Music Begins!!!

Being too young to do anything of consequence, yet too old to entertain with imagination alone, Huntington Beach gave my friends and I

THE WRECK ROOM

.

We were 13, and far too young to get in to this "all ages" venue for professional skating exhibitions and local bands. Being the rat of a local skate shop, the shop's amateur was able to sneak us in.

There was no dancing, moshing, crowd surfing, not any physical displays of enjoyment allowed, PERIOD. It was the music that troubled kids listen to, and being too young to understand the cliche, I wanted ALL OF IT.

One night, Guttermouth was the head lining band. When the lead took the stage, he read aloud the signs prohibiting all forms of movement, then, looking at the security guards, challenged, "Good luck!"

Instantly, the place was alive with violent music and I was loving every minute of it.

During the song, "Bruce Lee vs The Kiss Army," I just started running as fast as I could, and jump kicking people in the audience, in the mosh pit, anywhere I could reach them.

It took 2 security guards to physically throw me out.

I pleaded with the door guard,

"I wasn't moshing, I was just trying to get out of there. Look at how small I am! Can I go back in there? I'll stay away from the mosh pit. Please?"

He let me in.

And when I got thrown out the second time, I decided that music was going to be a big part of my life, for the rest of my life.


Blog #14. Unknown Day, 13th Year. Complete.

Retrospection:
I often feel sad for men who never liked punk music. Whether or not they like it now is inconsequential. It is the sound of the way a young boy feels; your body itself is in a war to go from boy to man, and to not understand it, is to truly not understand the violence that surrounded you, engulfed you, and made you. Every word of this post is cliche. It's also true.  

Upon Steven's Passing

Upon Steven's Passing

Oh Chasm! quickly fed our failures,

what could you gain from our Nothing?

But you must be fed, million by million,

you must be fed (but filled with Nothing?)

-no!- it could only be with our Everything

that you would do as you do and

are famous for doing.     (–Ah!

                                              I have found you out, you Cheat!)

Why else would we feel so robbed with

every bite? Would we set our hollowed

images and scripts in skin to be as

marked as the fields where we lay

these stones, that when our name comes

round the menu, you would remember

the appetizer you made of our friends,

our family, and –oh! The Most of these!-

our Strangers, that in this shared fate, we

are ALL as one, as within the soup from

which we were so ladled, and not

quickened as we’d like to think, but

fattened, gamed for You, oh! Gifted Chasm!-

that in our robbery, we shout at you

         “Crepi!”        that you may never forget

that we are neither robbers nor robbed-

not dead nor dying-

for we have yet to be stopped, but

continue to fill you with our most

cherished lambs out of spite, for

We are

whole, we are the consumers of

EVERYTHING, and you –oh! Gutless

Chasm!- you feed to live while never

living, at best

-and more, it is ALL you have to show for

your timelessness-

you merely endure and swallow our

greatness whole as we feed you another,

not as the trough feeds the pig waste,

not even as the middle finger feeds the

eyes hate, but as the ending of the day

feeds the night this meaning-

“You are only you to make way for more

of us.”

Blog #13. 352nd Day, 28th Year. Complete.


Retrospection:

I may put some poems on here as well. This is one of them.
No matter what I put up, dear reader, it is aimed at your enjoyment.

Jerry, Zev, and Gordon

Written from: Bern.

Please, step into my office.

The secretary will bring you some coffee if you’d like. She’s new and brutally attractive.

That’s right! We have rearranged the place but all of the decor is exactly the same as it’s always been. Everywhere. In every country that my office exists.

Please excuse me for a moment; I have some classes to teach.

---

No matter where I am, there is always a sense of consistency thanks to Jerry, Zev, Gordon, and their wonderful creation: Starbucks! Everyone wants to hate on Starbucks because it’s an evil company or some stuff that is probably spoken from ignorance, but this is my office and it’s always the same. Whether I’m looking out the window at Argentina, Italy, Switzerland, Fountain Valley, the inside is always the same.

And today is a day when I feel totally and completely content with my life. Today is also my last working day of my current trip before I make my way home for the holidays. And I’m in Bern! Someday I may come back here for a specific souvenir (a wife).


Jerry, Zev, Gordon...I owe you.


Blog #12. 27th Day, 28th Year. Complete.


Retrospection:

Dear God, thanks.

Conception of a Nude Model

If you don't know, dear reader, I sell my most sacred of parts in live acts to be construed in whichever the onlookers desires, even as much so as to label it "art." In sum,

I

am a nude model.


"How did you get into that?"


... and it goes ...

I wanted to do it for a while and so I asked some friends who were artists how to do it. They said, "check on Craig's list."

So I did. $150. Nude pose. Meet at his studio.

His studio turned out to be his apartment. Almost instantly, I'm getting creeped the fuck out by this guy, but I'm trying to be friendly.
"I like that painting."
-"Thanks. I call it Jizz."
"...great."

I'm trying not to come off as newbish or nervous, though I DEFINITELY am. He explains the piece to me and it sounds interesting. So now, he wants to have a look at me to see if I'd be right for it. So I go get undressed.

I come out into his studio (aka apartment), and he says he's going to take some photos just to get a feel for view. I agree, assuming this is standard. I also make no comment about how forward he is getting with his stories. From the moment I sit down, he begins telling me stories of gay romance. I try to act cool like I hear this shit all the time...I'm a professional...blah blah blah.

Then he says, "OK Michael"...he calls me Michael...in the most suggestive and uncomfortable way possible..."why don't you lay down here (HIS BED) so I can get some different angles." AND I DO IT...what the fuck was I thinking, but I do it.

He starts getting very close to me with his camera. I'm still trying to keep cool, like I've done this a million times. As he gets close to my junk to photo it, he can see that I'm a little nervous...

...so, in an effort to calm me down, put me at ease, and continue his...art...he quietly, gingerly, says the following...AND I QUOTE...

"Don't worry Michael. It's not like I'm gonna blow you."

At that point, as politely as possible, I say that this is a little less professional than I'm used to and that I would like to leave. So I do. Without getting paid.

When I tell my friends about the experience...the friends WHO TOLD ME TO FIND SOMEONE ON CRAIG'S LIST, they both respond with, "wow...you really did it?"

ASSHOLES!!! After that, I went back my Biola dorm and showered fully clothed. I didn't speak about it for a few years after that. To anyone. Booze and therapy later, I decided that the classroom route was the way to go. Safety in numbers, and all...


Blog #11.  Unknown Date, Between my 22nd and 27th Year. Complete.

Retrospection:

I have decided to just put everything on here. And so I will.